


through the storm we reach the shore

by trell (qunlat)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Hibernation sickness, Other, Polyfidelity, Rescue, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 16:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13239408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qunlat/pseuds/trell
Summary: “Torao says a lot of stupid things,” Luffy informed him, deadpan, and Law huffed a laugh and kissed him again—longer, this time, like he was trying to say everything he couldn’t manage aloud. Like doing this right was the only thing that mattered, now.Monet watched the star-lines drift past in the viewport, shimmering as they sped across the black.





	through the storm we reach the shore

**Author's Note:**

> Borrows the setting of Star Wars, mostly for the freezing-in-carbonite gimmick à la _Return of the Jedi_.

Luffy was sneaking down to the mess and Monet was scrolling through a magazine flimsy, catching one word out of three, when Law woke.

He did so with a start—tried to sit up sharply and collapsed back down with a sound of pain before he got even half-way there, enough time for Monet to get across the tiny cabin to his bedside. His eyes were wild, staring without seeing, their natural brown still clouded and pale from the after-effects of the cryostasis. She saw his right hand move as he tried clumsily to grab for where his gun would have been, and realized with sudden horror that if she didn’t stop him he’d try to summon his surgical forcefields next, right there in the cabin. 

She almost grabbed him by the wrist to stop him and thought better of it just in time, seized his left hand instead. She ended up bent all the way over the cot, knees planted on the chair beside it, where Luffy had been sleeping. “Law!” she said, loudly, intently, hoping he’d hear her through his newly-woken panic, tried to keep him from struggling so much it got him hurt. “Law, it’s me, it’s Monet, you’re safe—please, you need to relax—“

“What?” His voice was hoarse, hardly his own, but he stopped trying to wrest out of her grasp, though she wasn’t sure that wasn’t just due to near-immediate exhaustion. His eyes stopped on an indefinite point above her, maybe where the cabin lights were. “Where . . .”

“You’re on a passenger ship,” Monet said, evenly, didn’t let go of his left hand. His right she didn’t touch. “We—Luffy and I—got you out. We’re in hyperspace, headed far, far away from that bastard and his planet, and I promise you’re safe. You might not be able to see for a while.”

Law was silent for a moment. His expressions, usually so difficult to read, were cracked open now; first disbelief, so much so that it made Monet’s heart hurt that he couldn’t even imagine that he’d truly been rescued, followed by a slow flicker of understanding. Very quietly, he said, “You found me?” Then, quieter still, with an uncertainty that made her heart clench worse, “Monet?”

“It’s me,” she said, aiming for steady, knowing he needed her confident and firm. It came out far less so, her voice breaking on the second word as the reality of him alive, him _awake,_ hit her in full. The entire time he’d been unconscious—deeply unaware save for in the brief moments after collapsing out of the carbonite and into Luffy’s arms—she hadn’t thought of what she would say to him when he woke. It was as though they’d collected him still in the carbonite, picked up a memory in stasis rather than himself; finding him truly present, truly _back,_ made her want to bury her face against his shoulder and cry.

_I didn’t think I’d ever hear your voice again._

“Monet,” Law said again, still sounding as though he only half believed it was her. He tugged at his left hand and she let him pull it free, confident now that he wouldn’t tear apart the cabin in a frantic attempt to defend himself; held still as he reached up towards her face, brushing her cheek with trembling fingers. For a moment she thought he’d settle his palm against her jaw, a familiar gesture she remembered well from the intimate moments they’d shared, years ago; he didn’t, though, let his hand drop heavily back to the bed, as though even that small motion exhausted him. “You’re really here.”

She took his hand herself, then, held it in her own against the side of her face with her eyes squeezed shut, if only to maintain some clear point of contact. “You didn’t think we’d leave you as a wall hanging for that monster.” Her voice wavered only a little, saying it; it was clear enough that he had. 

“I dreamed that someone would come,” Law breathed, and she realized that this was what she’d half-heard him mumbling before, when Luffy had been carrying him out of the facility, “I dreamed again and again that somebody had come for me and gotten me out, the carbonite melting away. I’d reach for whoever it was, and then the cold would come rushing back in, and I’d know that I hadn’t escaped after all . . . every time, just like that, until I knew no one was coming.”

“But we did,” Monet said. Set his hand back down but didn’t take hers away, feeling the way his fingers curled around hers—for reassurance, maybe, confirmation of reality through touch. “Luffy did. He fought his way through half of the don’s army, getting you out.”

“Where is he?” A note of his earlier panic entered Law’s voice, “Did he get out? Is he still—“

Monet stopped him before he could plunge into nightmare thoughts of Luffy’s fate: “He’s aboard too, don’t worry. He hasn’t left your side except to eat, you know—and even then only twice a cycle.” She wasn’t sure if Law was clear-headed enough yet to catch the meaning of that, but she knew that later he would; with Luffy’s voracious metabolism keeping him from the kitchen for more than two times a day was nothing short of a miracle. That he had forsaken two of the day’s four necessary protein infusions to remain at Law’s side spoke of—well; everything that risking his life to save Law from the clutches of a galactic crime lord spoke of, only Monet thought that perhaps Luffy would do the latter for any of his friends. Fighting was in his nature, his innate reaction, restraint was . . . something else.

Law’s relief was palpable, a held breath released. Aloud, he said only, “I want to see him.” 

The words hardly seemed to cover what Monet heard in his voice. They were at once _miss him_ and _want him_ and _need him,_ all tangled together into a lesser phrase that shouldn’t have had to bear the brunt of so much longing.

Behind her, the cabin door slid open with a hiss, making even Monet start slightly. Law—still sightless, always hair-trigger—jolted, full-body, jerked himself back towards the wall, deeper into the alcove and away from the door. Tried to reach again for his gun, only to rediscover the uselessness of his right hand and the absence of the weapon, by which time the short figure in the door said, “Hi, Torao.”

“Luffy.” The name punched out of him as though by a physical blow, and Law went very still, save for his eyes, which frantically searched the space from where Luffy’s voice had come.

The object of his affections didn’t so much step through the door as pile through it, spindly limbs wrapped near-double around a dozen boxes and cans of provisions pilfered from the ship’s stores. Arms with multiple flexible joints, too thin and too long to be human—Luffy’s wide, long-fingered hands dangled down to his knees when he stood upright, inasmuch as his oddly bent legs allowed—nimbly transferred the boxes onto the cabin’s miniature round table, moving aside their old empty dishes. Luffy’s elongated neck bent strangely to allow him to look at Law. “You’re awake! How are you feeling? Do you want to eat?” And, to Monet: “How long has he been awake? Why didn’t you call me? Can he see yet?”

Faced with such a barrage of questions Law didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth quirked up in something that Monet really very much suspected was a smile, even as he struggled painfully to prop himself up on his left elbow to try and get a look at Luffy. Monet recalled reading that the hibernation sickness affected peripheral vision longer and more severely, so perhaps staring head-on would at least let him know where Luffy was, even if all he could see was a shadow. She didn’t try to stop him from moving, this time, though she was sure he ought to stay lying down.

For her part, she answered, “Just a few minutes ago, and no, not yet.” And, looking over to Law, “I’m sure he could use some water.” Law nodded minutely and remained focused on where Luffy—more or less—was, the movements of his eyes suggesting he wasn’t having as much luck pinning down his precise location as he’d hoped.

One of Luffy’s hands reached across the cramped cabin to procure a cup from the cabinet near the door, while the other rifled through one of the boxes he’d come in with. The length of his limbs, paired together with the ability to do both at the same time with impressive dexterity and without looking, gave the impression that they moved independently of their owner. His eyes—big, round, and almost wholly black with only the faintest white pupil, the feature that set him most apart from humans and placed his appearance firmly in the category of uncanny valley—stayed on Law. “We’ve got aitha and chooss,” he announced.

Monet opened her mouth to say that either would do, but Law interrupted with an unexpectedly intense, “Luffy, come here,” in a voice that suggested his patience had run out—though not, Monet thought as she watched him slump back onto the pillows, with Luffy, so much as with the attempt to remain even partially upright. 

Sensing that she should move, Monet stood and went to lean against the cabinet between the cabin door and the sleeping alcove instead, to give them at least the most minimal semblance of privacy. Luffy, to her surprise, obeyed; set down the cup and the two bottles he’d extracted and slung himself across the cramped room and into the chair Monet had occupied in a motion that she found decidedly simian. “I'm here.”

“Good,” Law said firmly. Then he fisted his working hand in Luffy’s shirt and dragged him down for a kiss.

It was a long kiss, judging by the duration of the silence, filled only by the continual thrum of the ship’s engine somewhere below them. When a sound finally made Monet glance over towards them again Luffy was climbing onto the edge of the cot in the alcove, where he leaned in and pressed his forehead against Law’s. Law had his eyes closed, hadn’t let go of Luffy’s lapel, and Monet thought he was shaking slightly.

“Did you miss me, Torao?” Luffy asked. His tone was uncharacteristically soft, and Monet didn’t think anyone save Law had ever heard him like this before. She felt like an intruder, but all three of them needed to remain out of sight, and that meant not leaving the cabin; and anyway, Luffy hadn’t asked her to leave. Hadn’t demanded that she set herself apart at all, in fact, for this entire journey, as though having someone else around who he knew to be in love with his partner didn’t bother him at all. 

Law’s response was hardly above a murmur. “More than you can possibly know.” And, with something like awe, “You came for me. Even though I told you not to. Even though I said all those cruel things to keep you away.”

“Torao says a lot of stupid things,” Luffy informed him, deadpan, and Law huffed a laugh and kissed him again—longer, this time, like he was trying to say everything he couldn’t manage aloud. Like doing this right was the only thing that mattered, now.

Monet watched the star-lines drift past in the viewport, shimmering as they sped across the black.

After a while, Law spoke again, far more somber and his voice no longer for Luffy alone. “He’ll hunt you, too, now. Both of you. To the ends of the galaxy. You know that.”

Luffy said, “I’m not afraid of him,” automatic. It was knee-jerk, but Monet didn’t doubt it was true. “He should be worried about me hunting him, for what he did to you.”

Everyone’s gaze settled on Law’s right arm at the reminder, even Law’s sightless own. Cautiously, Monet asked, “Can you feel anything?” 

Law scowled and turned his head like he was trying to look down at his fingers, which remained obstinately motionless. “No.” 

Monet swallowed the urge to ask how it happened, thinking it too soon. Luffy wasn’t so tactful. “What did he do to you? I promise I’ll make him pay.”

“ _No._ ” Law’s left hand grabbed Luffy’s wrist, hard—enough that Monet could see the skin on Luffy’s arm pull taut, blood pushed from capillaries. “You can’t go after him. You must not. If there’s any chance at all of escaping his wrath—” it was clear from his tone that he didn’t think there was, “—you can’t go looking for him. Don’t make it easy for him. I only just got you back.” This last was barely audible, a sentiment apart.

“Still,” Luffy said, “tell me.” It wasn’t precisely an answer in the affirmative, and it was plain from Law’s expression that he noticed, too. 

All the same, he let it go—saving the argument for another time, no doubt, when he had the energy to do more than lie listless on the bed. Said instead, with a startling bitterness, “It turns out, if you jam a bothan shock stick directly against a human nerve for long enough, you end up without much nerve left.” He reached over to roll up his right sleeve as he spoke.

Monet gasped; Luffy’s hands tightened on the covers to both sides of Law like he was about to hit something, whether or not the target deserved it.

The skin of Law’s right forearm was a grisly mess of scar tissue, as though someone had attacked the flesh there with a serrated blade, again and again. The edges of each tear mark didn’t look natural, appeared melted and burned, like the wounds had been haphazardly cauterized; like whoever had done the damage was possessed of only a limited interest in preventing fatal blood loss, and had a far greater one in inflicting more pain. 

“I’ll kill him,” Luffy said, with fury that ran so hot it looped back around into frozen. “I’ll break his neck.” His all-black eyes, which usually evoked a sense of gentle curiosity, seemed suddenly very alien and very dangerous. Monet, who had seen Luffy in action back at the don’s palace, had no trouble picturing him snapping a humanoid neck like a twig. 

“Please, Luffy.” Law was nearly pleading. He released Luffy’s wrist, found his hand on the covers instead; Monet saw Luffy let go of the sheets and knit their fingers tightly together, despite his anger. “Please promise me you won’t go after him, at least—at least not until I get the cybernetics put in to have use of my hand again, until I can fire a blaster.” _Until I can do something to protect you,_ hung unspoken. 

Luffy looked as though he might vibrate out of his skin with the intensity of his anger, but Law gripped his hand tighter, gave him a slight tug, and it was as though Luffy deflated—flopped suddenly onto his side next to Law, deeper into the alcove, and said petulantly, “Fine. I guess I can wait to kill him for a little while.” His expression could only be described as a pout. 

Law said, not without a trace of humor, “Thank you.” Monet, too, couldn’t help but smile at the degree to which Luffy found being made to wait to end the person that had done harm to his partner a personal affront.

In the alcove, Luffy settled in beside Law, head against his shoulder and one long arm draped over his collarbone. “Sleep now,” he announced. “Real sleep, not ice-sleep. So you can get better.”

“Now that idea,” Law sighed, “I think I like.” 

Monet was about to go for her own tucked-away bedroll, to spread it out and stretch out next to them on the floor, when Luffy suddenly raised his head and said, “Come lie with us.”

“What?” she said, startled. Now that Luffy was here again she had assumed he wouldn’t want anyone else so near, encroaching on their space—on his claim to intimacy.

“It’ll keep Torao warm,” Luffy said, as if this was perfect justification for letting a third party share a bed with his partner, even—or perhaps especially—a third party that had shared it before, and not always for sleep. When she hesitated, he waved her over impatiently. “Come on!” Law made no sound to the contrary, either, only shifted to make room. 

Thus prompted, Monet gave up her reservations and set the bedroll aside, clambered into the remaining narrow space to Law’s right. If she lay on her side, one arm wrapped carefully around Law’s torso below where Luffy not-quite clung to his neck, it was even comfortable, and probably better than the floor. 

Much better than the floor, she decided, when Law turned his head and buried his nose in her hair, as he’d done on so many nights before, in the years when they’d sailed the stars with just the two of them. Law had been longing desperately for Luffy even then, the gaping empty space in his heart obvious to anyone who looked; still, he’d cared for her, too, clung to her all the more tightly in Luffy’s absence. Looked her in the eyes after they’d lain together and kissed her back like she was the only one on his mind, for all that she knew that someone else filled his thoughts through all his waking hours. 

For the first time, it occurred to her that maybe the one wasn’t mutually exclusive with the other; that maybe what they shared could still remain, even now that Law was reunited with his heart’s foremost desire. That maybe the all-consuming flame that was his devotion to Luffy had room for their smaller, cooler flame within its confines, too—and that Luffy didn’t mind. 

It was a thought that eased her heart, for all that she hadn’t known it to be sore.

Beside her, Law’s breathing grew even. In all the time that she had known him he had never been an easy sleeper, and that he let it take him so readily now was a sure sign of the security he felt as much as the exhaustion. Bracketed by the two of them, Monet hoped that for once he had felt safe enough not to give any thought at all to the night.

She fell asleep listening to the sound of the ship’s engine, Law’s heart beating steadily next to her own.


End file.
